


Waitin’ Just to Hear Me Yell

by gayvid_byrne



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Blackmail, Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Follower Courier, Followers of the Apocalypse, Followers of the Apocalypse (Fallout), Grey-A, Grey-A courier, I love her, Memory Loss, Momma Courier, Morally Ambiguous Character, Tragic Backstory Courier, how do you tag, low charisma baby, morally grey courier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-01-16 22:16:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12351639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayvid_byrne/pseuds/gayvid_byrne
Summary: Six shot him once in the head before he could utter a word. She felt like she should have felt bad about killing the man, but she felt no remorse as she rifled through his pockets. A crumpled piece of paper and a single bottle cap? Jackpot.Another side effect from getting shot in the head?Maybe.She’d have to keep an eye on that.





	1. Doghead McWearsunglassesatnight

Six took the first chance she could to change out of the tight vault-suit. The doctor had been kind enough to lend it to her, but it was small and pinched her in places she’d rather not be pinched. She was lucky that the clothes she had picked off of the of powder-gangers that had decided to attack her upon leaving Primm were loose. The blood-spattered white cotton shirts would have to do until she could find some more suitable armor. 

One week ago, Six had left the Primm location of the Mojave express with a package in her hands. It was small, worthless, and insignificant, and she’d almost been killed over it. She’d been shot, twice in the head and left for dead. Poetic if you were removed from the whole situation. If she ever wrote a memoir, she’d have to remember that line. It was unlikely that she’d remember it, though. It was hard for her to hold on to small things like that ever since she’d been shot. The bullet had done just enough damage to tamper with her ability to hold on to her memories and what little she remembered had been stored in the pip boy that had also been kindly lent to her. 

Now, she was blindly chasing the man who had shot her: following a trail that never seemed to end. The deputy in Primm had mentioned something about him going through Nipton to get to Novac, but then what? How many stops did a man make before reaching his destination? Six didn’t even know if he was going back to Vegas. He could be anywhere by now, which was discouraging. 

The woman didn’t even know why she was chasing after him, she wasn’t the type to seek revenge, and for some odd reason, she wasn’t too upset about the whole ordeal. Six just wanted answers, she guessed as she pulled the map on her pip boy up. It was getting late and the sun had set over the hills a while ago now. Nipton had better be close, and with a bed or some food waiting for her. 

Neither of those things were waiting for her, as she reached the outskirts of the town. It was on fire, which was odd enough, and a Powder Ganger wearing next to nothing with the most incredibly annoying voice startled her. Six shot him once in the head before he could utter a word, out of impulse. She felt like she should have felt bad about killing the man, but she felt no remorse as she rifled through his pockets. 

Another side effect from getting shot in the head? 

Maybe. 

She’d have to keep an eye on that. 

The contents of the man’s pockets were useless, what seemed to be a crudely made lottery ticket, a handful of caps, and a used up jet inhaler was all she found. Hopefully, there’d be some place where she could rest her head, though she wasn’t too sure how well she’d sleep after seeing the town square.  
Six wasn’t sure how to react to seeing the bodies lashed to the makeshift crosses. Had she not been shot in the head perhaps her reaction would have been different but all she could mutter was: “yikes,” and bring concerned hand to her mouth. Some of them were still alive, just barely holding on. They needed to be put out of their misery, wasting her ammo on them would be worth it so long as they were no longer in pain. 

After careful thought, the woman delivered each man and woman on a cross a swift bullet to the head and watched with tired eyes as their heads drooped, defeated. What had happened to this place? Answers would be nice, but they weren’t the most important thing. Finding a bed that wasn’t disgusting would be the best. 

She wondered how it felt to be up there— not that crucifixion was something she ever wanted to experience. Six had a vague memory of what sort of texts she had read about the method of execution. It was obvious that it was painful, these people had been up here for no more than a couple of hours, yet they were barely holding on to their lives. It was slow, painful, and an odd punishment for such a large number of people. A lot of work went into this.

As she made her way for what she assumed was the town hall, six or so men conveniently walked out, as if they had been waiting for her to approach the building. Perhaps they were intimidated by her mercy? What was more likely was that they enjoyed making a spectacle of things, especially the man in the center. 

A really fucking weird guy. 

Who the fuck wears a dog skin on their head?

Six put a hand on her pistol as a warning, but the man was unmoved. Whatever menacing look she was giving him was moot, she probably just looked like an angry puppy, anyway. He reassured that she wouldn’t be harmed in the most unsettling voice. The man sounded like a villain off of one of those pre-war radio shows. Maybe he was a villain off of one of those pre-war radio shows. Mister Professor Doctor Doghead. Distracted, for just one moment, Six wondered how much she could pay him for the hat. He was probably a little too attached to it. 

“What did they do that deserved a punishment like this? Surely there were innocents, no children? Old grandpas, that sit on the porch with a bottle of Nuka that all the kids call pap?” Six asked, trying to ignore the stench of death. There was no such thing as an innocent to this man. Had she been more awake, she would have pressed him further, but it was late. She missed most of what he had said, anyway, including his name. 

She should really get her head checked out by another doctor. 

He seemed to be fishing for a reaction from her, something that would affirm that what he had done was either commendable or despicable. What was he? A grade schooler who had just taken the biggest shit and needed to be complimented on it? 

“What’s done is done, I suppose.” Her response surprised herself, she hadn’t expected herself to be this apathetic about Nipton in the end. Despite her genuine curiosity of who these people were, if they were as vile as this man said they were, then they really didn’t deserve to continue living. Killing this man seemed unwise and getting angry or upset about this seemed pointless. She didn’t know these people and honestly didn’t want to have ever met these people. It was just better to look at this as rationally as possible. 

He left after she agreed to… to… 

She was supposed to do something for him, and she had agreed to it, but whatever it was escaped her. It must not have been incredibly important. Six marked it in her pip boy anyway: “try to remember what the man at Nipton wanted you to do”, it was the least she could do. Maybe it’d trigger her memory later on down the road. 

Right now, she needed sleep. 

Sleep hadn’t come easy for Six since being shot in the head. After the rest of the world had gone to sleep and her mind began winding down and putting away the events of the day, she’d begin to worry. The woman had never remembered herself as a worrier, but when you were barely holding on to the memories of who you were, it was easy to worry. 

She told herself: 

“You call yourself Six, but somewhere in there, you know that’s not your name. You are thirty two years old and you are from the Boneyard and you have a daughter named Omid and a wife named… you can’t remember her name but this is okay,” Six twisted the ring around her finger, trying to remember her spouse, “everything will be okay. You will find the man who tried to kill you and get answers and then decide what to do after that.”

The only reason she remembered that she had a daughter was because whoever she was before Six kept a photo of her in her rucksack. She remembered that she was from the Boneyard every single time she touched the scar on her forehead. Scratched it on her mother’s lab table. She was a… a Follower? There was a vague memory of something there. Someone had to have answers, but answers could be found later. 

She needed to sleep. 

She woke the next day with Mr. New Vegas’ velvet tones in her ear. It was easy to forget about yesterday when you woke up to a voice like his. Six swung her legs over the edge of the dead man’s bed, humming along what she remembered of 'Blue Moon' and went searching for supplies in the house.

The house was full of many things, but perhaps the best thing she found while rooting around in the cabinets was a hefty supply of liquor. Six marked the house down in her ever-growing list of things to remember: “NIPTON - LIQUOR”. The bottles were too heavy to carry and logic told her that she’d need the cans of cram, tuna, and fruit cocktail more than a bottle of whiskey. 

She was grateful that there had been a woman living in the house, too. Finding more than one pair of underwear wasn’t an easy task, but luckily this woman had plenty to spare. As she dressed, inspecting herself in the dingy mirror, she ran her fingers over her right shoulder, gently tracing the raised skin. The doctor said that whoever had done it to her had made sure to take care of it, but he didn't recognize the symbol at all. Every single time she went through her pockets or looked at the scars on her body, Six found more and more questions she had about who she was. She wasn't fond of mysteries and she hated knowing so little about herself, but at this point, there wasn't much else she could do about her situation. 

Oh well.

Much to her surprise, it was overcast outside and looking like it was threatening to rain. A rare blessing in this area. Six smiled at the sky and shoved the straw hat she’d found on top of her head, trying to pass for a caravaneer or at least a merchant. Anything but a clueless woman with memory problems. 

Six needed to press north, but the road that leads north made her nervous. It was narrow, sandwiched between two hillsides, a perfect place for an ambush, but surely they wouldn’t ambush a lone woman. 

She was very, very wrong. 

They hadn’t given up, even after yelling at her assailants that she had nothing of value on her. She was stuck, her back pressed against the husk of a car, praying that it wouldn’t explode. Hopefully, scavengers had taken out the engine a long, long time ago. Knowing her luck, though…

They hadn’t. 

Six leaped as far as she could in front of her just as the engine exploded, flames singing the tips of her hair. She crawled on her knees to the nearest cover she could find to assess the rest of the damage; a bit of shrapnel in her left calf a few scratches that could be taken care of with some bandages and some stimpacks. 

The explosion seemed to have scared off whoever had been trying to attack her as well. Hopefully, they’d stay away long enough for her to do a quick patch up and then get the hell out of this shit sandwich. 

Fixing a couple of scrapes came easy to her, even after the whole, getting shot in the head thing, though Six was certain that she hadn’t been a doctor. The doctor back in Goodsprings hadn’t found any medical supplies on her person, just the photos of her daughter and her instructions from the courier job. She was about ready to find some answers about herself, something to explain the care she took while fishing the shrapnel out of her leg and her skill with a needle and thread. Surely she had some training at some point in her life

The small bits of metal were fascinating. Perhaps she could make a mosaic after this was all over, call it: “You can survive a car exploding, but it won’t be pretty”. Maybe her true calling in life was to become an artist, though there didn’t seem to be much use for them anymore. She felt like a vulture, picking out what she could as fast as she could. The sight of the blood dripping down her leg made her feel nauseated; the quicker she could get this patched up, the quicker she could get to ease her stomach. 

After a dose of med-x for the pain, she was good to go; not good as new, but she could at least walk without metal digging deeper into her leg. 

She’d been right about the explosion scaring off whoever was shooting at her, but she still hurried out from in between the hillsides, limping as fast as she could towards high ground. From up here, she could see the lights of New Vegas polluting the sky, the vague outline of a familiar building towering over the rest. Six had seen it before, several years ago, but the name of the building escaped her. Surely she’d find out soon enough. 

The first drop of rain that fell on her nose stung, the feeling lingered there on her face like the singe of hot oil on skin. Slowly, it began to drum against the back of her head until it started pouring. Rain like this was short-lived: in a couple of hours, it’d just be a memory left behind in her hair and in her clothes. Six collected what she could, grateful that the dust from the road was being washed away as she traveled. 

There is a memory. She had played in the rain and her mother was mad at her for trudging in mud and water all over her lab space. Her mother couldn’t be too mad at her, for rain was scarce during the hot summer months and remembered a time as a child when she, too played in the puddles whenever it rained. Her mother calls her by a different name, though she cannot make out what name it is. Six can make out a “Mah-”, but that is all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this fic is back! I took it away a bit to make some changes and kind of finding my bearings as far as this fic goes. This is going to loosely follow the New Vegas plotline, but I'm going to try to avoid explicitly describing the stuff we've all already played through hundreds of time. Mostly, this is going to follow Six trying to figure out who the fuck she is.
> 
> Next chapter is going to dive a little bit into her past!
> 
> I don't have a beta reader, so bear with me as far as how frequently I upload! I'm also constantly re-reading my stuff to fix problems, but if you see anything that's a problem, let me know. I love all kinds of criticism!
> 
> EDITED 10/19 to remove the fucking cat that I forgot to write in the later chapters.


	2. Six Gets Her Shit Rocked

Pie Town sounded like it was named by someone who lost a bet. It was a small, sleepy settlement in New Mexico, population: fifty. There was a uranium mine about an hour walk from the town square where prospectors who were brave enough would venture into to collect whatever they could find. It wasn't the safest job, but it was better than nothing. It was a dust town, but they surprisingly made decent money. Thanks to a rather large reserve of water nearby and 'pies to die for', it was a popular stop for caravaneers and travelers venturing west.

Mahtab wouldn't have minded the bar so much if she wasn't so bothered by the lack of women. Bartender said it was because of the Legion, which was... peachy. Apparently, most women stayed home these days.

She would've rather pressed on, but the caravan she was traveling with insisted on stopping for the day. It wasn't even evening yet. They could've made it past the Arizona state line before nightfall had they simply stopped to fill up and left it at that. But no, they wanted to grab a slice of Helen's prickly pear pie and see if it was "still as good as the last time they were here".

It was a good pie, at least.

They crossed into Arizona late in the afternoon the next day. Mahtab was grateful for the mountains that loomed over them, providing at least a little bit of shade. She was ready to be back home, or at least, back in the NCR where there wasn't a big fucking desert everywhere. Almost four years of being in the desert were enough for her, hell, she would have been fine had she only spent a week out here.

What was supposed to be a year-long escape from the Boneyard, her wife, and her mother turned into a four-year mistake that was currently ending with her passing through Legion territory with the help of a caravan company whose name she hadn't bothered to learn. Of course, Mahtab, like the idiot she was, didn't go home when she was instructed to and instead ignored her responsibilities until the Legion grew stronger and absorbed half of the tribes she had made contact with. Moral of the story: don't run away from your responsibilities.

Knowing her luck, things would go south sooner rather than later. It would probably be her fault, too, but like every other time something went wrong, she'd put the blame on literally anyone else and live out the rest of her life in blissful ignorance. _Just like the surgery she botched; the only reason she was out here in the first place._

It was just her luck that the caravan she was traveling with smuggled chems. Just her luck that they were caught at the very first Legion checkpoint.

“Come on, Aelius, you know me,” the caravan leader had pleaded, but the legionaries ignored him, stringing him, his two sons, and the bodyguards that traveled with him on a cross. Mahtab was certain she was going to see that sight in her dreams until the day she died. She could hear their screams as she was pushed down the road with a spear to her back. 

Mahtab could _actually_ , safely say that none of this was her fault. Not that it mattered, though, because she still found herself with hands bound, following the caravan boss' daughter and wife to whatever camp they were being led to. She was guilty by association.

They could have told her that they were smugglers. They owed her that much. She wouldn't have gotten mad.

She could have left them behind in fucking Pie Town.

“We’ll keep the girl and the mother, don’t need the other one here. We got enough girls. Send her with one of the Centuria joining Caesar at the dam,” the slave master ordered when they arrived in Flagstaff. After a week on her feet, it was absolutely _fantastic_ to hear that she’d have to continue walking. Mahtab wanted to call it quits, just up and leave, but she wasn’t really in the position to do so. 

At least she got to get away from the nonstop crying from the daughter and wife of the caravaneer. The soldiers she had been traveling with for the past week or so had been big fans of Mahtab— impressed that she hadn’t started wailing the minute they sat down for camp the first night or talked back or did anything, really. She was more the suffer in silence type: wanted all the cards to be played before she made any moves. 

Mahtab watched as the two women were hauled off, likely to have new collars strapped to their necks and have new names given to them. She had heard enough of what was done to Legion slaves; she tried not to think about it too much. 

“Caius would probably have use for her, he’s been looking for a new one ever since his last died.” 

Fantastic.

* * *

It’s astounding how fast your feet will take you places when your mind is distracted. Six found herself on the outskirts of the small town of Novac early in the evening. The town was guarded by a bright, green dinosaur that overlooked the highway below. At night, she could imagine the creature being a startling sight if you weren’t sure what you were looking at. It was a cute landmark, though. 

Six wasn’t sure whether she should have felt welcomed or on edge after meeting the woman running the desk at the motel. She was friendly enough, but a little too enthusiastic about the town. So many things to do apparently, but first things first, she needed to find someone to take a look at her leg. 

She paused for a brief moment to inspect her leg, make sure that it was still in need of repair. 

Most definitely. It looked like a raw brahmin steak. 

Dr. Straus was questionable, but according to the woman at the motel, was the town’s only doctor. Six had found her practicing on a dead coyote near the edge of town, her stitching leaving much to be desired. Could she really trust this woman to take care of her leg? Vegas was still a good four-day walk away and Six didn’t want to risk infection by waiting any longer to get it looked at. 

Dr. Straus it was. 

“Your leg looks fucked.”

No shit, Dr. Straus. 

“Lucky for you, this will heal nice if I don’t mess up.”

Thank you for the immense confidence in your work, Dr. Straus. 

Six winced and dug her nails into her thigh as the doctor poured some mystery alcohol over her wound, keeping a careful eye on what she was doing. Straus was questionable, but she wasn’t completely incompetent. There may have been a point in her life where she was actually a rather capable doctor before getting in too deep with chems and whatever else life threw her way. There were probably worse doctors in the world, and at least her leg was getting looked at. 

After a healthy dose of med-x was pumped in her veins, Six almost felt as good as new; she could really get used to a steady dosage. Another thing to watch out for. A day or so of rest and she’d be able to get back on her hunt. It was a shame she was stuck in Novac. The town was sleepy, dull, and lacked any sort of charm. There were the giant dinosaur and the tiny toys that the man inside the dinosaur sold, but that was it. Six wasn’t too fond of them. 

Thanks to the med-x, Six slept the majority of the day away, waking up confused in the middle of the night. Where was she? _Novac, Six_. Right. 

Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, Six slipped her feet into her boots, not bothering to tie them. She wasn’t going to be out long. All she wanted to do was get some air and take a look around town. Old lady at the desk had mentioned that the snipers may know something about the man who shot her. 

She was surprised to find the door leading into the dinosaur was left unlocked. Small towns like this didn’t really have a security issue, apparently— maybe they wouldn’t miss a few missing packs of cigarettes or bullets. Six would have to test her luck as she left. She really didn’t understand towns like this. There were vague memories of the NCR, of cities that had managed to function just as normally as she imagined pre-war towns had. They locked their doors at night and kept a close eye on their belongings. Not here, though. Everyone had probably known each other for years. 

The door that led to the mouth of the dinosaur creaked and groaned as it struggled to open, its hinges in desperate need of oiling. There was the sniper like the woman had told her, idly smoking a cigarette and watching over the hills. He hadn’t noticed her despite the door, and Six wondered for a moment if he could hear. However, the minute he felt her breath on his back, he turned, aiming his rifle at her head. 

“Goddammit, don’t sneak up on me.”

Well, he could hear at least. Was there something wrong with every single person in this town? The doctor couldn’t doctor, the woman who ran the motel was too cheerful for her own good, and at least one of their snipers was too dumb to notice her behind him. Six didn’t really have much room to complain, though, especially with the whole ‘got shot in the head’ deal. 

“Yeah, fuck you, wanna try that whole greeting thing again? Maybe this time without your gun in my face?” Six pushed the barrel away, frowning. She knew she wasn’t the most cheerful gal in the Mojave, but she _definitely_ didn’t greet people like this. “Lady in the motel told me to find one of you. Can’t remember who, can’t remember much these days, but you could help.” 

“I need to know if I can trust you before I do anything for you.”

Yeah, okay, fuck you, sniper. Six crossed her arms, leaning against the door. What’d he want her to do? Clear out some scorpions from the underpass? Kill some crickets or maybe do his mother’s laundry? Save the town sheriff from some powder gangers with a flamer? Buy him some manners?

“Everyone in this town knows me, but they don’t know you. I want you to find out who the son-of-a-bitch that sold my wife to the Legion is.”

Oh. _Oh._ Well shit. Fuck. 

Damn. 

Now she felt like an asshole. 

_Damn._

And she was going to continue to be an asshole: “sure, give me a cigarette and I’ll do it.” For just a brief moment, Six saw his eyes light up, but they quickly returned to their usual scowl. He agreed to her terms, reluctantly handing her a cigarette. She was quick to light it, taking a deep drag, the taste of the stale tobacco almost familiar. Six had definitely been a smoker at one point— the smoke filling her lungs was comforting, filling in a void she hadn’t even realized was there. 

With brief instructions on what to do once she found the culprit, Six was a-hunting, or at least, would be in the morning. She grinned. If she caught the guy, she could bully him for more cigarettes, that’d be good payment. 

Wait. 

There was something more important she needed from the sniper. 

_Find the man who shot you, Six._

Right, Right. She should probably do that first. He could be bullied for cigarettes any time.

There was something she needed to do for the man from Nipton.

_Tell the NCR of what Caesar’s Legion did to the town, Six._

She snapped her fingers as she threw the door of her room open. That was it! 

_Six, you goddamn genius._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Wil, you actually updated a fic this time. 
> 
> tl;dr: Pre-Benny Six gets her shit rocked and then two low charisma babies try to talk with each other. Neither ends well.


	3. "Do I look like a Megan?"

“So you’re saying that chupacabras took that sniper’s wife?” Six rubbed her temples, trying her hardest to avoid looking irritated. From the minute she got up, she’d been asking people all over town about the sniper’s wife. Did he tell her his name? No. She’d have remembered it… or she hoped she’d have remembered it. “Thanks anyway, No-Bark.” 

There were two people she had narrowed her search down to: Manny, the other sniper, and the old woman. Neither of them had liked the lady, and they were the only ones that really seemed to have any strong opinions on her. Six had spent the morning after he took up his shift in the dinosaur snooping around Manny’s room for anything seedy, but only found a note on his terminal about the man who’d shot her in the head. Banjo or something was his name. All that was left was to go snooping through the old lady’s stuff, but she was still sitting in the office, staring at the wall with a smile plastered on her face. Like a robot. 

Six spent the rest of her day re-doing Dr. Straus’ stitching on her leg, lucky that it hadn’t gotten infected. She was grateful for whoever she had been before all of this, stitching and tending to her leg felt as natural as walking was. Perhaps she had been a doctor previously. It wasn’t much, but at least it was a clue to who she was. She didn’t care for puzzles much, though, and every single day that passed the puzzle got larger and larger. 

When night finally fell, Six slipped into the motel office, looking under and in everything she could. She’d even found a couple of unopened packs of cigarettes in a vending machine, which she stuffed into her shirt with glee. Even if this woman wasn’t guilty, she was glad she ended up snooping around. Six didn’t think she could ever bring herself to actually purchase cigarettes, especially stale ones. 

Somewhere, she remembered what fresh tobacco tasted like. Maybe in the NCR? She imagined that it was something she did when she was young, smoking with a friend in a bar in the Hub, probably drinking a terrible beer and urging them to flirt with whoever was sitting next to them. 

She liked the idea of past her being good at conversation and being around others. Six found it to be a struggle to actually hold any conversation for too long and to actually be interested in what others had to say. Maybe she could learn. Find someone who was good at it to teach her. 

For now, she’d focus on finding out who she was and… 

_Who sold the sniper’s wife, Six._

The only thing that was left was the safe behind the desk. She really didn’t want to pick locks— mostly it was because she was uncertain that she’d even be able to get the damn thing open. But she was full of surprises, apparently; it only took her six bobby pins to jiggle the lock open. Six was mildly impressed with herself. At least she wasn’t the _worst_ locksmith in the Mojave. 

Inside the safe was a small amount of bottle caps, some loose bullets, and a neatly folded document. Six had hoped it was nothing more than just a deed to the motel, but when she opened it and read over the contents, her heart sank. It was the bill of sale. 

_Shit._

What a bitch.

Six felt genuinely sorry for the sniper. Betrayed by the woman who practically ran this town. She couldn’t imagine the feeling of having a loved one and… Jesus, an unborn child sold to slavers. She wanted to look away, but her eyes kept skimming over and over the words on the paper. Did the sniper know about the baby? Had she known that about the Legion when she walked into Nipton, she’d have shot those soldiers and their leader on sight, no doubt. There had to have been women and children in that town, what happened to them? 

_Fuck._

Maybe she and the sniper could get his wife back. That was the least she could do after letting the man in Nipton walk. 

As stealthily as she could, Six creeped out of the motel lobby and made her way to the old woman’s house, slipping through her door easily. Nobody in this town locked their damn doors. Made things easier for her, but she still questioned these people’s sense of security. 

“Ma’am,” Six called out, gently touching the sleeping woman’s shoulder, “ma'am, there’s something wrong in front of the dinosaur, Cazador got his stinger stuck up the sniper’s ass or something like that.” The old woman woke with a bit of a startle, but _somehow_ ultimately believed her. She had no idea what was in store for her. Six quickly put on the beret the sniper had given her and followed behind the old woman, listening to her babble about how Cazadors this close to Novac would be a problem for business. 

The sniper caught her mid-sentence and the shot rang loud, bouncing off the buildings and the nearby mountains. The woman’s head had practically exploded, a mess of blood and brains getting everywhere, including Six’s shirt. _Yuck._ It was a (relatively) clean one, too. 

“You got brains on my shirt, ass,” Six complained as she returned the beret to the sniper, making sure to brush off a bit of the muck on his boots. 

“How’d you know it was her?” He _really_ wasn’t going to engage. Bummer. Six said nothing and instead handed him the bill of sale. He looked… she wasn’t really sure if he looked happy or sad that this was finally over. 

“You gonna stay here? I mean, I wouldn’t, this town’s the worst.” 

The sniper sighed and glanced down at his kill, “no. Don’t know what I’ll do. I’ll probably just wander. Kill Legion assholes until I die, probably.” A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. 

“Sounds like a plan. Ran into a whole mess of Legion soldiers on my way here,” Six paused, contemplating whether or not she should ask him to tag along. They didn’t really seem to get along that well, but neither of them seemed to be incredibly equipped for conversation. The least they could do is watch each other’s backs. She eyed his rifle, _and if he dies, I can take his rifle._ “If you want, you can come with. Probably won’t even bother you for cigarettes.”

“Sure,” he agreed, not even bothering to think about the potential consequences of traveling with her. He must really want to get out of town. Six didn’t really blame him, though. She’d want to leave if the same thing happened to her. 

“Let’s set off tomorrow, then. Gotta do something for that NCR ranger before anything else.”

Before she went to sleep that night, she studied the photo the Doctor in Goodsprings had found on her. Six looked young in this photo, she was probably no older than twenty-two. The scar on her forehead was still new, held together with tape to keep it from opening any further. Who had taken the photo? She remembered her daughter’s name and a vague idea of her mother, but anything other than that was a blur. Six was certain that once she figured out her name and what she did, all the little details about her life would fall in place. 

If she could remember once she learned it. 

Somewhere, she hoped that whoever had been in her previous life missed her or at least cared about her. How long had she been away from them? Six remembered taking the job in Primm, but everything before that? No clue. If she wasn’t missed, well then, it was alright because she didn’t know who they were anyway.

* * *

The fucking Legion ruined everything they touched. 

Six had just spent the past hour burying the bodies of the soldiers that had been stationed at Charlie. All slaughtered by the Legion. Neither she nor the sniper had said anything, they just stared silently at the bodies before he began cutting off their dog tags and stuffing them in his pockets. From time to time, she’d glance over at the sniper to see if he was crying under those dark glasses, but his face was stone. 

Next Legionary she saw was dead. Nobody deserved to die like that. Six wished she had shot the man in Nipton now. They were all members of the legion now that she remembered it. _Shit._

“So,” she started, brushing her hands off on her skirt, “I guess we need to go back and tell that ranger what hap—”

“Andy can’t do anything about this.” 

_God_ he was good at being incredibly rude, Six was not a fan of being interrupted at all. Grumbling, she pulled the straw hat onto her head and threw her bags over her shoulder, “this is the second time the Legion’s slaughtered a group of innocents, asshole. Novac’s next if we don’t let _someone_ know.” 

“I was going to suggest we just go straight to the Mojave Outpost. That’s our best bet.” 

_Oh_. That was actually a good idea. She could probably tell someone there about Nipton, too. Two birds with one stone. 

Six was appreciative of their lack of conversation, she wasn’t very good at it and whenever they talked with each other, it ended with her calling him an asshole and both of them trying to keep themselves from throwing punches. No conversation was better than forcing something. 

“Wait,” she stopped in her tracks as they crossed out of Nipton, “I don’t know your name.”

“Boone.” 

“Just Boone?” 

“Yup.” He paused for a moment, looking down the scope of his rifle, scowling as he lowered the gun. _What did he see?_ “What about you? Can’t keep calling you ‘hey’.” 

“Six.”

“That’s a number, not a name.”

No shit, Boone. 

“Don’t remember my name. I was courier number six for the Mojave Express, it just made sense to call myself ‘Six.’”

“No it doesn’t. You could’ve picked a name.”

“And what name would you suggest?”

“...Nancy. Or Megan.”

Six pressed her lips together and stared him down, “do I really look like a _Megan_?”

“Not really.”

Six rolled her eyes as she trudged on, her feet aching. How much longer to the outpost? She could see the statues in the distance, but they never seemed to get any closer. Damn desert. Damn sun. She jumped as she heard a shot ring out by her head. 

Damn sniper. 

She’d never admit it, but Boone was actually pretty handy. Six had always assumed herself to be pretty eagle-eyed, but this guy was in a completely different league. Sure, their conversations weren’t riveting, but at least he hadn’t killed her yet. 

The two of them both breathed a sigh of relief as they passed under the legs of the statue. Despite how late it was, the outpost was surprisingly busy. Six wondered why she had never bothered to visit this place before, none of this looked familiar. Then again, there were few things in this world that looked familiar for her right now. Hopefully one day her memory would mend itself. 

While she left Boone to go inform whoever was in charge about the fate of the ranger station, Six seated herself at the bar of the outpost’s tiny watering hole and prepared to drink herself to sleep. There was no way she’d sleep easy tonight after the course of the last two days. _Fucking Boone._ Granted, none of it was his fault, but it felt better to pin the blame on someone, and his name was the only name she knew other than Banjo, the man who’d shot her. 

It was Banjo, right? 

Six shrugged, it didn’t matter, anyway. She’d kill him eventually. 

A sleepy eyed bartender appeared shortly after Six settled in, but she seemed to care little for her new customer sitting at the bar. Instead, she just leaned back against the register and picked at the dirt under her nails. Rude.

Waving her hand, Six tried to put on her most polite smile, “yeah, hi, I know it’s super duper late, but what’s the strongest thing you have here?” _Give me ten bottles of it and a funnel, please._ The woman paused for a moment, eventually dipping behind the counter to take look at her stock. “If it helps, just get me whatever she’s drowning herself in.” Six motioned at the only other person sitting at the bar, a woman with a defeated face who just seemed to be staring into her drink. 

With a huff, the bartender poured her a small glass of what seemed to be whiskey, and just before she turned to stow it away, Six snatched the bottle, muttering that she’d need the whole bottle. Boone wasn’t here to scowl at her poor decision, so this was the perfect time to drown herself in liquor. 

“You’re a bottle behind if you want to catch up to me, lady,” the other woman at the bar commented as Six emptied her glass and unscrewed the cap to the bottle. She had a defeated sound to her voice, and for a moment, the courier almost felt sorry for whatever may have been going on in her life. 

Six chuckled and rolled her eyes, “I’m sure I can catch up in no time.” 

“Don’t even _try_ to drink me under the table.” The woman lifted up the brim of her hat and moved closer to Six, almost as if she was insisting that she try to out-drink her. She hadn’t sat down here with the intention of competing with a boozehound, but there’s no way a bit of fun could hurt. After all, she was here to drink herself to sleep anyway, she might as well get competitive with it. 

Six took a big swig of her bottle, accepting the challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry I poofed, working full-time sort of puts a damper on having time to work on stuff. Sorry I'm a piece of shit l o l 
> 
> I still love this fic and will be updating it whenever I can. This chapter isn't very long or very interesting, but it's here whether you like it or not. 
> 
> tl;dr: Old women suck and Six gets brains on her "new" clothes


	4. I Enjoy Listening to Vampire Weekend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, skip to the hr if you're triggered by vague mentions of non-con. Nothing's explicitly mentioned, but I care about you and I don't want my fic to make you feel bad. 
> 
> More notes at the end.

She was shaken from her sleep as the flaps to the tent rustled, it was the first time she had been able to rest for longer than a handful of minutes in days. Mahtab blinked groggily at the man struggling with the buckles on his armor, wondering if he had noticed her stir. 

“Septima.”

He had. 

She was hoping he’d let her continue sleeping, just this once, and remove his armor on his own, but he never did. Mahtab rolled her eyes and threw her legs over the side of the dingy mattress, resisting letting out a groan. She was careful around him. There were few days where Caius appreciated her witty remarks. He had given her some slack when she was carrying his son, but one year later and he was back to his usual, difficult self. 

Septima wasn’t a name. It was a title. Mahtab was the Centurion’s seventh woman; she didn’t want to think about what happened to the others. She kept quiet and did what he expected of her, and he didn’t complain much. There was a time when she tried to push his patience to the extremes, where she’d refuse to share his bed or even go as far as threatening him with death and spitting in his face as he pinned her down, but the last time she had done that, she’d nearly been killed. Mahtab kept to plotting his demise quiet now. 

He knew she wished him dead: he was no fool. Caius saw it every time he returned to his tent, every time she glanced up at him while laundering his clothes, a sad and cruel smile painted on her face. One of these days, she’d probably succeed, and he knew it. 

“Septima,” this time he said it with more force, sending a shiver down her spine. Mahtab was quick to get up and rush to his aid, her fingers fumbling with the buckles. “I have good news for you,” he hummed, almost making her forget what a terrible person he was, just for a brief moment. 

Mahtab decided to test her luck, “are you finally setting me free and letting me return to my wife and daughter in the NCR?” She didn’t even know if they wanted to see her after the shit she had put them through. Hell, she couldn’t even remember how old her kid was at this point, but after seven or so years, she was starting to miss them. 

Caius responded with a quiet chuckle, and she wished she had the energy to continue to amuse him— he was so much more bearable when he was in a good mood. “No, Caesar wishes you to examine him. I find it amusing that he wants a woman to examine him, but my men speak highly of you whenever you stitch up their wounds.” She made a point to have his armor smack him in the nose as she pulled it off his shoulders. 

“What, is he experiencing trauma after setting the legate alight and watching him try to claw at the rocks in the bottom of the canyon? I hope Graham is still alive just so I can watch the horror on the faces of the men who pushed him in.” She scoffed, tossing the armor to the side. _That_ comment was an accident, she had gotten too comfortable in the moment and her tongue had slipped. Ever since the Legate had been killed the slaves had been forbidden from talking about him. Four months past and he was already forgotten. 

Mahtab remembered him: she remembered discussing theology with the Malpais Legate one day while sewing his leg back together nearly three years ago now. She remembered asking him why he even followed a man like Caesar, she also remembered not getting a good enough answer, which resulted in her stitching ‘fucker’ into his leg. It was a shame that it was probably burned off now if he’d somehow managed to stay alive. They were never close, but he had been one of the few who didn’t always treat her like cattle. It didn’t erase the fact that he was a monster, though. Every one of these men were monsters and no matter how educated he was, the Legate was just as bad as Caesar. He just put a different spin on things. 

The centurion turned, grabbing her by the wrist, turning and forcing the collar of her shirt down, revealing the brand that had been placed on her back years ago. “Watch your tongue. I’d be happy to watch you writhe underneath the hot iron again.” 

_Fucker._ He always knew where to hit hard.

Mahtab struggled to free her hand; she could feel the tears welling in her eyes, but she was determined to keep a straight, stern face. She desperately wanted him to fear her, but he just laughed at the sight of tears. He knew the bull still burned on her shoulder. He knew how tender the scar tissue still was. 

What would he add this time? This sort of punishment was what had done in his first girl, one of the women in the medical tents told her. Happened right after she was auctioned off, too. The poor thing was dehydrated and weak, there would have been no way she would have survived the brand. Lucky for Mahtab she was stronger and more stubborn than the others. 

She told herself this over and over again, but:

Her hand still shook as she lifted Caesar’s tent flap, trying to avoid looking into the eyes of his guard. She had never seen him this close— was he as intimidating as his speeches were? 

He wasn’t. 

Caesar was just a man in a fancy chair. He was the only one who seemed to take notice as she approached him, raising his brow as she stopped in front of him and crossed her arms over her chest. She suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious about the state of her clothing, of how dirty and tattered her old lab coat must look compared to his garb, which seemed to be laundered and everything. Her old Followers logos had faded long ago, replaced by the bloodstained ‘x’ that marked her as a slave. 

Still, there was something familiar about him as she studied the wrinkles in his forehead, the same way he was studying the glare in her eyes and how she was restraining herself from balling her hands up into a fist. She could have sworn that she saw him in a photo once. The legate had once told her that he had been a follower, much like her, so it was possible. 

 

“My men tell me you’re one of the more talented doctors we have, it’s a shame we haven’t had the opportunity to meet until now.” His voice wasn’t how she imagined it. It sounded different from his speeches, somehow softer, yet it still sounded harsh as he forced himself over the word ‘doctor’. “Even Joshua spoke highly of you.” She raised a brow, surprised to hear his name. 

Mahtab pressed her lips together, trying to fight the urge of speaking out, of getting herself in trouble. “It’s nice to know your men think so highly of a slave, Caesar,” she said with a smile, trying to disguise the sarcasm in her voice. A long time ago, she’d been known to have a trigger temper, any other time, any other place, she’d have clocked him in the jaw. Mahtab was never one to keep her thoughts to herself and always spoke her mind, but her current situation made it difficult. Getting in trouble with her mother was fine, she’d survive, but getting in trouble with the conqueror of tribes and a slaver was a different story. “It’s an honor, sir.” 

“Cut the bullshit. We both know you’d rather be getting drunk in a Hub bar and waking up hungover in some NCR soldier’s bed.”

“Actually, I have a wif—”

“And now you don’t. You’re here and my property. You patch up my men while wondering if you can get away with slicing their throats open on your table and making a run for it.” The man was a fucking puzzle. For a moment, he could make her forget she was worth nothing to them, and he probably knew that, too. A man like that probably got off on the look of despair that came across the faces of his slaves as he reminded them of their place. A smile re-appeared on his face as if he hadn’t said a thing. “Tell me, doctor, where did you come from before you came here? You obviously aren’t a tribal.” 

Shit.

“I was making contact the tribes you hadn’t assimilated yet across New Mexico and Utah. Researching, escaping, whatever you want to call it. Your men at the border of Arizona kinda fucked up my grand return home.” There was that tone again. She really needed to watch her tongue. 

“ _Before_ that.”

Fuck.

“The Boneyard. Both of my parents are Followers.” She noticed Caesar raise a brow at the word ‘Followers’. The former legate had remarked how the man had once been a follower, and honestly, that news didn’t really come as a surprise to her. He was smart and possessed an intelligence that only someone who’d studied at the Boneyard would have. Another follower asshole was just what she needed. 

Mahtab hadn’t spoken about her parents so long, she had almost forgotten how much she missed them, despite how much of a hardass her mother was. “Mom was a surgeon and my father was a researcher. Followed in mom’s footsteps and when that didn’t work out, followed dad’s.” Mom hadn’t been too happy about that part, especially when her only child ran off, leaving her wife and daughter behind. 

“No wonder you patch my men up better than the tribal women do. It takes skill.”

“I’m just not stupid. Doesn’t take much to not be stupid.” 

Caesar chuckled, but it lacked any sort of warmth, not that she’d expect a man who literally owned people to be warm.

“Do you actually need me to examine you, or did you just bring me here so you could pretend to get to know one of your hundreds of slaves?” Mahtab struggled to hide the hint of irritation in her voice. She knew this man didn’t see her as a person and the fact that he was pretending made her even more irritated. Of course, she didn’t appreciate being treated like shit, but this made her feel even worse. 

The man stood up and for a moment, Mahtab feared that he was going to strike her the way Caius did when she spoke out of line, but instead, he just adjusted the cuffs around his wrists, smiling. “I don’t need examining unless you think a headache is life-threatening.” She shook her head. “Surely Caius has told you how we defeated the Hidebarks, I believe you’ve even examined some of the women we’ve brought in. There’s someone else I need you to take a look at, but you are not to speak of him outside of this audience.” 

Mahtab didn’t actually pay attention to Caius’ boasting or whenever there were new women in. She had grown too used to it, but she didn’t tell Caesar this. Instead, she nodded, trying to relax her gaze. 

“Follow.” 

She was led to a room beyond his own quarters, where a giant of a man lay unconscious with bloody bandages holding him together. He… he didn’t look great. There was absolutely no way a man in his shape could be alive, yet she saw his chest rise and fall. Somehow, he was still alive. Mahtab hovered her hand over his wounds, trying to get an idea of what needed to be done. By the looks of him, he was no legionary. She’d have recognized him. 

“The Monster of the East.” Caesar remarked as if he was marveling at a work of art hanging in a museum. Whoever this man was, it had taken a great deal to get him. “A member of the Hidebarks, but none of this matters. He is your patient and you are not to leave until he’s walking again.” 

“There’s no way I can help him with just healing powders. I’m going to need med-x for the pain and lord knows what else.” Her fingers brushed over the cuts on his chest. “These are going to get infected fast in these conditions if they’re not already.” Without a reply, Caesar motioned to a table with an array of medical supplies. It almost looked like home. Had Mahtab been in any other position, she could have cried. 

“Use whatever you need.”

With that, he stepped aside, his soulless eyes watching her as she rolled up the sleeves of her coat and scrubbed her hands, just as she would at home. In moments, she forgot that he was even there, and started whispering a song under her breath.

* * *

“Jesus Christ, the sun hurts,” Six groaned as she blinked her eyes open, her vision blurry. Everything hurt and it didn’t help that the first thing she saw when everything came into focus was Boone standing above her, scowling. The man was very good at scowling. 

The courier struggled to lift herself out of the cot, muscles giving out on her the moment they were put to use. From her pip boy, she could hear Mr. New Vegas, voice as smooth as ever, going over the news. 

_Do you ever turn that thing off?_ Boone had asked while they were on their last leg of yesterday’s trek. 

No. Not really. Six liked the noise, kept her distracted by the ringing in her ears that had been coming and going ever since she’d been shot. Also, she didn’t know how to turn it off. Boone seemed to find more and more things to be annoyed with her the longer they stayed together. By the end of the week, he’d have a list a mile long.

“Told ya you wouldn’t be able to keep up with me, sunshine.” _Ah._ The woman from last night. Six turned her head to face her and saw the woman lounging on one of the couches, looking like she was in better shape than she had been last night. Unfair. Did the woman just drink nothing but whiskey? She grinned and sat a bottle of water by the cot, “you got about one bottle in and started taking off your clothes and passed out on the floor. Soldier boy came in after that and got you into bed.” She leaned in real close to her and whispered, “he was not happy about that. Lots of cussin’.” 

Six groaned, “sounds about right.” It’s hard to gauge how much you could drink when you had no idea who you were. She wanted to think she was a heavy drinker, but after last night, it was very obvious that she had very little experience in that department. Great. So she had no memory and couldn’t drink worth a shit. 

News like that just made her want to stay in bed for the rest of the day. Six ignored Boone’s scowling and the woman’s attempts at getting him to have a conversation and rolled onto her stomach and closed her eyes. They could head out tomorrow, there was no harm in that. It wasn’t as if she was itching to get to New Vegas. 

Just as she was getting comfy, she felt two hands pull her up by the shoulders: 

“What the fuck is this, Six?” Boone asked, jamming a finger into the burn on her shoulder. Wincing, she shrugged his hands off of her. Asshole. “Are you with the fucking legion?”

What?

“Your name is Six?” the woman guffawed, ignoring the tension in the room. 

Six stretched over her shoulder to look at the burn, trying to decipher its shape. It did look similar to the Legion’s bull, but there was no telling. “How many times do I need to tell you that I really don’t remember anything about myself?” Even if she had been with the Legion, did it really matter anymore? Boone seemed to think so. 

What an asshole.

As she shrugged her shirt back on, carefully making sure the buttons were going into the right holes, Boone gave her an earful of everything the Legion had done as if she needed a history lesson. She kind of did, but not like this— she wasn’t a fucking child. All he was doing was adding to her growing headache. Asshole. It really wasn’t worth sticking around this guy. 

“Goddammit, I should have known you were with those fuckers the moment you said you were a courier. Every goddamn courier is one of their spies these days.” 

That was it. 

“Listen,” she spat as she threw her bag over her shoulder and rooted through the footlocker in front of the cot, “it’s a _burn_ , probably done with a hot poker, even I’m smart enough to tell that. Whoever did this, Legion or not, probably did this to hurt me, not to be my best fucking friend.” Six really couldn’t tell whether she was more irritated at Boone or more irritated at her splitting headache, even just going through the clothing in this locker was too much for her. 

On the bright side, there was a bulletproof vest tucked away in the locker along with some mentats and a mechanist’s handbook. _Score._ Ever since she’d left Primm, she’d been looking for a book on mechanics to fix an eyebot she’d found in the town. Hopefully, it’d be better company than Boone was.

Her head reeling, she stood and pushed her way past the sniper and the boozehound, who was getting a real kick out of this whole ordeal. Six needed a moment to stew on her own and forget about Boone and Banjo and New Vegas for just a while. She had too much pride to admit that she was overwhelmed by all of this: of being shot in the head, of what happened in Nipton, of getting an old woman’s brains on her, and most of all, learning that she couldn’t fucking drink. A real tragedy. 

She obviously wasn’t quite ready for being around other people just yet. 

“If you stop being an ass, just follow the trail of vomit to Primm. I got something I need to get there.” Six really didn’t want to leave him behind since he was rather handy, but she also didn’t want to hear him continue to complain about the burn on her shoulder for the next two hours. Just a short break was all she needed. After all, they had pretty much cleared out the roads on their way over to the outpost. 

Six was going to regret leaving that outpost behind while still trying to nurse a hangover: Boone would literally have a trail of vomit to follow. 

Primm had changed since she was last there just a few days ago, the residents were out on the street again and the NCR had moved their tents across the highway and into the town to actually try to provide some relief. She was happy to see the town alive again, to see people going in and out of the post office and idly chatting with each other as if they hadn’t been held hostage by a gang of ex-cons a few days ago. 

Six followed behind a courier into the Mojave Express, where she was greeted by a much happier postmaster. 

“Didn’t expect to be seeing you in town again for a while. You left in an awful hurry last time.” He remarked as she rested her arms on the counter, eyeing the hunk of scrap metal that was laying there, unused. 

“I was busy trying to find the guy who tried to kill me. Got sidetracked and now I’m back here for this guy.” She pointed at the broken-down robot, “tried having someone travel with me to watch my back, but turns out I’m not so good at conversation. Figured that something is better than nothing, and I might have a way to fix him.” 

“He’s all yours, Six, you deserve something in return, after what you did for us.” 

“Thanks, I’ll stop by later for some dinner once he’s fixed. Shouldn’t take long.” 

Six should really feel bad about inviting herself over, but he could deal with another mouth at the table. It wasn’t as if she had saved his town’s skins or anything. They owed her one. 

Her makeshift repair shop was set up in an empty room in the Bison Steve Hotel, tools scattered everywhere. The headache she had been nursing had managed to die down, and the hangover she’d been facing this morning was nothing more than an annoyance now. Soon, Six would once again be a functioning member of society. 

Repairing the eyebot felt familiar, the book had helped, but after working the wires and fitting the scrap back into place, her fingers seemed to remember what they were doing. It felt good: doing something on her own, sitting in the middle of a hotel room sweating and wearing nothing but her underwear with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, repairing an eyebot. 

Maybe she had been a mechanic in her old life, it certainly fits her. 

As she repaired him, the eyebot made some beeps and whirrs, as if it was just simply dreaming. Adorable. Six liked to think she always had an affinity for robots. At least this thing wouldn’t irritate the hell out of her or worry about her past or her lack of memories. Why couldn’t everyone be more like a robot? It’d certainly make things simpler for her. 

With a bit of tape and some careful re-constructing, the eyebot buzzed back to life, rising out of her lap and beeping with (what she assumed to be) glee. Precious creature. He seemed to respond to the smile that grew on her face, her first victory since rising out of her grave. 

“Hi ED-E,” she beamed as she brushed dirt off its body, “my name’s Six, want to go mooch some food with me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm bad at coming up with titles. 
> 
> What's up, 2018? Sorry I haven't posted, too busy drinkin and fuckin.


	5. I spent way too much money on makeup this month

Six was surprised to see another face at the Nash’s table when she burst in with ED-E, she felt like an ass now, inviting herself to dinner at their table. 

“Yout got him working?” Jonathan Nash remarked as she sat herself down at the end of the table, piling fried scorpion onto her plate, ignoring the looks she was receiving. She was starving, fuck everyone else.

The robot chirped happily above her in response as she stuffed her face, wiping the corner of her mouth with her arm. “Yeah, he’s a good boy,” Six nudged him with her arm and then waved a fork at the stranger across from her, “who’s this guy?”

He didn’t look very happy at that question, almost as if she should recognize him.

Huh. 

“Oh,” Nash looked at the the man at the table, as if he’d completely forgotten about him, “Six, this is Mr. Fox, Mr. Fox, this is Six.”

Odd name, though she really couldn’t complain since she pretty much went by her title as a courier. There were probably weirder names in the world. Odd guy, though. Quiet. Too many manners for someone this far from Vegas. 

“Looks like we both got weird names, huh?” She commented with a mouth full of stewed cactus. If she wasn’t so hell-bent on finding Bingo, Six would probably stay here just so she could eat this good all the time. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a meal this good. Not like she could remember much, but from the bits she could actually remember of her childhood and living in the NCR, there wasn’t a single time where she enjoyed a home-cooked meal. 

That didn’t amuse him, either, though. Instead, he quietly grunted in response and continued chewing, trying (not so subtly) to eye her up and down, to try to get a feel of her. Did she look suspicious? Could he see her bra through her shirt?

Six looked down at her sweaty tank that she’d stolen from the outpost. Yep. Black lace and all. At least it was the good one. She hadn’t taken the time to change after fixing up the bot and it wasn’t like she was graced with having an endless change of clothing. 

“So,” Mr. Fox finally said after he swallowed his bite, “what brings you in town, Six?” She didn’t like the way he said her name or the way his voice sounded, as if he knew something she didn’t know. 

“I’m heading up to the strip, needed to pick up a friend since my last one turned out to be a dud.” Six wondered what Boone was doing, he probably had no interest in traveling with her again. She wasn’t _entirely_ pissed off at him, he had every right to be cautious, but there was no sense in going about it the way he did. “Trying to find a new way around, though, whole place is crawling with Legion and I’d rather not deal with that right now.” 

“I take it you’re not a fan of them?”

Her mind wandered back to the sight at the ranger station, the tapes that had been left behind and the hours she spent digging graves for the poor folks who’d been killed. “Hell no. They’re messy, don’t like messes.” She had enough mess to deal with on her own at the moment and getting wound up in the Legion’s mess was not something she wanted to add to her list. Six had let it slide in Nipton because the man there hadn’t outright killed her and she was still woozy from the gunshot wound to her head, but next time around she wasn’t going to be as passive. 

Mr. Fox tilted his head to the side, considering her words, “I can’t say I disagree with you, things with them can get awfully messy.” He took a bite of the flatbread Ms. Nash made, giving Six the most uncomfortable stare. “As for me, I’m actually a good friend of the Nash’s, got some stake in the Mojave Express, after I heard what happened to Primm, I decided to stop by.” He continued on as she spooned some more food on her plate, “I guess I have you to thank for taking care of the town.” He smiled, lifting his fork in her direction as if he was giving her a toast. 

_Nobody asked you._

Six resisted the urge to roll her eyes and instead pushed herself away from the table. “Well, y’all made a great dinner, but I better get going, long day of walking ahead of me.” Honestly, Mr. Fox was growing on her nerves, the man talked too much and she didn’t trust men who talked too much. 

That’s probably why she was alright with traveling with Boone, probably why she preferred having ED-E, now. 

The robot followed behind her as she excused herself from the Nash residence and headed back to the hotel. 

She liked that she had the whole building to herself. The powder gangers hadn’t been too difficult to clear out and she was certain they were all gone, but the town still refused to return to the hotel. Didn’t look like they were doing much with it, anyway. Sucks to be them, the place even had running water. 

It was a relief to be able to stand underneath a shower head for a few minutes and wash off the grime from the road and the dirt that had caked underneath her pip boy. God, she hated wearing that thing. 

Mr. New Vegas’ voice filled the emptiness in the bathroom: it was strange hearing about news about herself, how she woke up after being shot in the head. Surely Banjo heard this as well and knew it was about her. 

She hoped he pissed his pants after hearing that news. 

As she stepped out of the shower, she inspected the burn on her shoulder. It _did_ look like a bull, but who knew if it was the Legion’s? Maybe she had been into that sort of stuff when she was younger, but she was definitely not a fan of it now. 

Maybe she could get a tattoo or something to cover it up, but when she touched the skin, it still felt tender, as if it hadn’t healed properly. Whoever had done it had meant for it to hurt. 

Six was glad to find a change of clothes as she rifled through the drawers and the abandoned suitcases in the room. She didn’t feel like doing much laundry, and if she could just find replacement clothes along the way, it made no sense in keeping up with the nasty ones.

Just as she finished tying up her hair, there was a knock outside her room.

“What?” 

Mr. Fox peered around the corner, “I have to thank you for not outing me in front of the Nash’s.” 

“What do you mean?” Six inspected him, “I’ve never met you before tonight.” She tried to find some sort of familiarity in his face, but there wasn’t anything that was triggering her memory. There wasn’t anything about this man that she recognized. With a voice and a face like that, there was no way she wouldn’t have recognized him. 

“Have we not met?” 

“No. We haven’t,” Six went to her bed and picked up the pistol that was resting on the pillow, “if this is your idea flirting, then it’s sad. Get out.” 

He held up his hands, as if to say she didn’t have a thing to worry about, “not my intention, Miss Six—”

“Just call me Six. Don’t be a dick.” 

“—fine, Six. I was just here to say, if you’re headed up to Vegas tomorrow and don’t mind an extra gun, I’d be _happy_ to join you. ” 

God, his voice was peculiar. She sighed, sitting on the bead and leaning back, “if it’ll get you out of here, sure, but don’t talk to me, and I’m not waiting for you tomorrow. Now get the hell out of my hotel before I sic my eyebot on you.” 

She grinned as ED-E whirred in response; the robot wasn’t exactly the most threatening thing on earth, but he certainly did make an attempt. 

Mr. Fox narrowed his stare, contemplating whether or not her threat was justified. The way he stared made her uncomfortable– it seemed as if he knew something about her that she didn’t. “I’ll see you in the morning, then, _Six_.”

Six listened for the downstairs door to close, but either she had missed it or Mr. Fox had decided to take one of the other empty rooms for the evening– something she wasn’t too thrilled about, but this wasn’t her hotel, so she really didn’t have a say over anything. ED-E would just have to take up watch during the evening. 

As she slept that evening, Six’s dreams were nothing but nonsense, bits and pieces of fuzzy memories played over and over: a mountain of a man lying unconscious and bloody in front of her, her mother’s face and the scarf that covered her hair, a woman laying next to her in bed, who caresses her cheek and tells her: _“Mah, I love you.”_ Her wife. A part of a name. _Mah._ She likes it.

She remembers that one when she wakes in the morning, trying to remember the name of her wife, but everything was fuzzy. Six logs all of these memories in her Pip-boy, desperate to not forget a single name or a single moment more than she already has. It’ll come back to her, she knows, once all the pieces of the puzzle are put together. Someone here had to know something about her. 

Mr. Fox was there, waiting for her on the outskirts of Primm, inspecting a worn map that he had half-folded in his hands. The courier paid him no attention as she passed him, slinging her hunting rifle over her shoulder and attempting a whistling duet with the eyebot as she made way for a mountain path behind the hotel. She wasn’t in the mood for passing through Nipton again, and it was quicker in the long run. Six wanted to be on the outskirts of Boulder City by sundown. 

They stopped at an abandoned gas station just as the sun passed overhead. Six was relieved to sit for a moment, dump the sand from her boots and remove the burrs from the hem of her skirt. 

“So,” she said with a mouth half-full of some mystery jerky Mrs. Nash had made, “what’s in New Vegas for you?”

“I thought we weren’t speaking.” 

“I’m bored, asshole. Mr. New Vegas is playing Johnny Guitar for the fifth time today. Entertain me.”  
Mr. Fox’s eyebrow twitched. He didn’t like that. “I’ve got a few contacts in the city that I need to check on. I deal in knowledge.” 

“Not gonna elaborate on that?” Six tore into another strip of jerky. “I’m gonna kill a man. Don’t know his name, but I think it’s Bingo or Banjo.” She actually had no idea what she was going to do with him once she got to Vegas, all she really wanted was answers. 

“What’d he do to incur your wrath?” 

“He shot me in the head. Twice.” She stood and leaned against her rifle, “after him, I’m going after that Legion bastard from Nipton.”

Mr. Fox chuckled. “You really don’t like the Legion’s idea of justice do you?” 

“No, I-” 

Then it hit her like a brick wall. Something in his tone, something about his voice connected in her brain and she remembered. He _was_ that Legion bastard from Nipton. No wonder he was so amused when she expressed her dislike for the Legion. Without thinking twice, Six pulled the pistol from her hip, pointing it at Mr. Fox’s knees. 

“I’ll blow your fucking kneecaps off.”

“You finally remembered who I am, I’m taking it?” He seemed more amused than anything else, not even taking her threat seriously. He took a step forward as if he wanted to explain himself, but she responded with a shot to his shin. The man hissed, dropping down to the ground, clutching his leg. “Profligate bitch. Should’ve killed you years ago when you first came to us.”

Fuck, this just got way more complicated. 

“Wait, what?” Six stared at him, dumbfounded. “ _Years_ ago?” What the hell did he mean? It would explain her burn, but not much else. There was nothing about the Legion that she remembered other than her run in with this man in Nipton a few days ago. She felt powerless. Suddenly, this man whose real name she couldn’t even remember knew so much more about her than she did. Just her luck.

He laughed again, drawing in a sharp breath when he moved his leg. “You don’t even _remember_. Just you wait and see, Doctor.” So she was a doctor. That explained things at least a little bit. 

But Six had enough. She didn’t want any explanation from him: how could she know what he was saying was true? With a scowl, she left another bullet in his arm and kneeled down to meet his face, her eyes following the thin trail of blood that flowed from the wound. 

“Our influence hasn’t left you, I see. You love admiring your work.” Six shoved her thumb in his arm, pushing the bullet deeper as he grimaced, “Just fucking finish the job.” She couldn’t tell whether it was rage or pain that was laced in his words, but she felt so powerful right here. 

“I’m going to let the crows finish you off.” Six said with a smile, bringing the handle of her pistol across his head, smiling at the gash that was left behind. Fucker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally shit gets going. Sorry for the delay. I've been hopping around roles at my job.


End file.
